


A New Start

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Character Study, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aral Vorkosigan sets off to restart his life, and immediately is confronted with someone from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Start

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lmb_challenge prompt: _He's not the finest character that ever lived. But he's a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid._ (Arthur Miller)

Captain Vorkosigan closed his eyes. The painkillers weren't working very well. He had managed to leave his behind in the rush to escape Kyril Island, and the ones he had hastily begged from an Armsmen weren't as good. His head still ached dully, the quick gulp of coffee hadn't entirely driven away the foul taste in his mouth, and the harsh ship's lighting was entirely too bright. Getting drunk in celebration of his promotion had been a lot more fun than getting drunk because there wasn't anything else to do, but the hangover was the same either way.

But he had a ship, he was going to get back to his real life and shake the frozen mud of Kyril Island from his feet. He took a deep breath of the familiar recycled air and headed for the bridge, where he would formally take command of the _General Vorkraft_.

A crash and a hoarse shout jarred his aching head. He spun around - his vision blurred and he had to clutch the wall for balance - and hurried down the corridor towards the sound. Two men in black fatigues were grappling with each other on the friction matting.

"What the hell is going on?" Vorkosigan demanded angrily. He had meant to shout, but his voice had come out quiet in self-defence, and neither fighter reacted. As he closed on them, he saw that one of the men had a clear advantage over the other and was throttling him mercilessly.

"Stop this at once!"

The man being throttled gave a hopeless croak, but his assailant seemed oblivious. The very first order he had given on his new command, and it was not being obeyed. Vorkosigan felt his pleasure at being aboard his ship give way to anger. He reached out and seized the assailant by the collar.

The man spun around more quickly than a person of his size ought to be able to move, his fist coming up to catch Vorkosigan a massive blow on the side of his head - and stopped dead.

Vorkosigan stared back frozenly at a face he had hoped never to see again. Ges's toy non-com, the unforgettable Konstantine Bothari.

Memory flooded him, searing. Despite Ges's coaxing, Vorkosigan had never agreed to let Ges show off his batman's ... special talents. It had not been because of any scruples on Vorkosigan's part, for he had been too full of his own pain to care for anyone else's, but simply because he had no appetite for that kind of game. But their paths had crossed often enough in less intimate contexts. He had a blurry memory of the sergeant helping Ges carry him when he was too drunk to walk, and - he cut that memory off. The past was gone now.

Sergeant Bothari's face said otherwise. He almost cringed away from Vorkosigan. It was a profoundly unsettling sight, and Vorkosigan felt a surge of fury at Ges, and at himself for his cowardly acceptance of the situation.

It took him some effort to take his attention away from Bothari and look at the other participant in the fight. He was barely more than a boy, with long awkward limbs, standing up and rubbing his neck. Not seriously hurt, then. When he took in Vorkosigan's dress uniform and captain's tabs, he came to rigid attention, his Adam's apple jutting out of his neck as he swallowed nervously. Ensign's tabs gleamed in his collar, new and shining. _Koudelka_, the white printing on his jacket read. Not a name he knew.

"Explain this scene, Ensign Koudelka," he said at last.

Koudelka opened his mouth and shut it, then drew breath to try again when the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps distracted him. Bothari tensed, and Vorkosigan looked around.

"What's going on here?" demanded the new arrival.

Koudelka looked, if possible, even more anxious. Bothari's eyes narrowed to slits. Vorkosigan's brows snapped down. Who would speak that way before a ship's captain? But perhaps the man hadn't recognised him yet. He stepped forward.

He was ignored. "Bothari," said the man in withering tones. "I might have known you'd be involved. What is it this time?"

Vorkosigan cleared his throat slightly. When he'd been on the General Staff, this small sound had made generals and ministers cringe, but the new man was unabashed. As Vorkosigan's eyes scanned the man's collar, a different face, livid and reproachful in death, floated before his mind's eye, and he felt again in his hands the exact sensation of human vertebrae cracking. He clenched his hands into fists.

"So you're the Political Officer," he whispered. "Your name, please?"

This time his tone caught the man's full attention, and he turned to face his captain.

"Lieutenant Radnov, sir." The honorific was almost an insult.

"Well, Lieutenant Radnov," Vorkosigan said, burning now with past and present fury, "if you've read my files like a good little spy, you'll know exactly what happened to my last Political. If you don't want to share his fate, I suggest you keep your face out of my sight during our tour of duty. I will discipline my own men."

The Political Officer took a step backwards, inadvertantly. Vorkosigan kept his eyes fixed upon his prey. Then Radnov scowled at him, turned away and hurried back along the passage.

Koudelka looked petrified, but Bothari's tense shoulders relaxed slightly. Vorkosigan let out his breath.

"You were going to explain this to me, Ensign," he prompted.

"Um, I just--I think I must have startled him, sir," Koudelka said. "I wasn't sure of the sergeant's name, so I just touched his arm to get his attention--I needed someone to help with the water recycling tests--and when I touched him, he, um, he lashed out."

Bothari gave a slow nod in agreement with this story. Vorkosigan considered. It was not hard for him to understand why someone who'd been worked over by Ges for years would react violently to an unexpected touch, but there was no way he could explain that to this boy.

"Hmm," he said in the commanderly tone that was coming back to him with every breath now. "That sounds like a combat flashback. I've had them." _Two minutes ago,_ he didn't add. "Is that right, Sergeant?"

"I guess so, sir." Bothari's voice was dull, as if he were half-asleep. Vorkosigan frowned. There must be something that would reach the man.

An idea struck him, and he took a new tack. "Now," he said, "your fighting was disgraceful."

Both men looked hangdog, and a sharp smile curled his lips. "I don't mean that you got into a fight. It's your technique. It was appalling. Sergeant, you should never have been so absorbed that I could approach you without you noticing. And you, Ensign, you're lighter but you've got a much longer reach and ought to have been able to put up a better show. I can see that unarmed combat drills are going to have to be a priority."

He nodded to the two astonished men, so deep now in his role that he barely noticed the headache. "Dismissed, gentlemen."

Eyes wide, they saluted him crisply, and he thought Bothari walked a little straighter as he returned to his duties.


End file.
